She looked at him for a good half-minute. Then she said, ‘I have a confession to make. It’s a secret. I wanted to tell you, and you alone. Not the lady officer.’

Here she paused and took a heavy breath, and he could hear lungs working to gather sufficient air.

‘I am, to all intents and purposes, compos mentis. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

He nodded.

‘You may speak, Detective Hobbes.’

‘You’re putting on an act?’

‘Exactly. There is nothing wrong with me, beyond the usual ailments that come with being a woman in your eighties. And, alas, I have a somewhat fleeting memory. But let me assure you, my thoughts are lucid. A bright light shines through me.’

‘And yet …’

‘I have to put on this act, as you call it, to make sure that I can stay here, in the comfort of this home.’

‘I see.’

‘I am, as I’m sure you know, an experienced actress.’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course, one must try to avoid succumbing to the role. I have known great actors and actresses who have let their characters take them over completely to the ruination of their everyday lives.’

‘But you know the difference, I presume.’

‘To a point, yes. The necessary point.’ A little smile. ‘You have seen already that the old biddies here adore me. They make a fine audience. Once, I performed Gertrude’s description of Ophelia’s death for them, from Hamlet, and somehow or other it all got mixed up with Lady Macbeth.’

‘Two very different expressions, I should think. One all languid and forlorn …’

‘The other sheer rage, and greed for power. Indeed, yes!’

Hobbes nodded. ‘I would have liked to see that.’

‘A policeman who knows his Shakespeare? I knew you were a person of learning, Inspector. I saw it in you.’

‘Self-taught. I read a lot of books when I was younger.’

‘I do admire a man who betters himself.’ Her eyes sparkled gently.

‘Actually, I know you wrote a novel, Mary Estelle. A Spell of Darkness.’

‘Oh, that old thing! Really, I’m embarrassed that you even mention it.’ And yet she allowed herself a little smile.

‘I found a copy at Nicholas’s bedsit.’

‘You did?’ She was genuinely interested.

‘Several copies, in fact. He must have been an admirer of your work.’

‘Well … I am surprised, I must say. It’s been long out of print.’ And she smiled broadly now, brightly enough to thrill the people in the back stalls.

Now that he’d relaxed a little, Hobbes asked, ‘So, you don’t want to go home?’

‘I am home!’ It was the most vehement she had been. ‘I would hate to live elsewhere. Especially that old dump Bridlemere.’ Her upper body shook with disgust.

The sudden emotion took something out of her, for she lolled against the back of the chair and placed a hand on her chest.

Her eyes closed tightly, crinkling around the edges.

Her other hand joined the first, and her linked fingers rose and fell as she struggled to breathe.